


Greener Pastures

by WandererRiha



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reinterpretation of Chris's first meeting with Barts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greener Pastures

The village looked...well, “better” wasn’t exactly the correct term, but at least it was no longer on fire. That was certainly an improvement. The simple timber and stucco houses had gone up like tinder, but with such simple construction, they’d arisen again just as quickly. Although there were fewer than half of the original buildings still standing, at least a dozen new ones had sprung up. Chris had a feeling that Percival would have been beside himself at the state of the fields and the windmills. Although the structures yet stood, they were badly in need of repair. The canvass of their great arms had been singed away, leaving them black and skeletal. Chris knew little about agriculture, but even a novice could tell that the damage had been extensive. One man in particular seemed especially crestfallen. Dressed in muddy tow linen overalls, a dark sheepskin jacket, and with a black bandanna covering his hair, he dug dejectedly in one of the ruined fields.

“I’m so sorry about your field,” she told him, pausing to survey his work. It was a comparatively small plot, not even half the size of those devoted to grain. His progress was evident by the steadily increasing rows of stripes in the dark earth. The untilled section still looked like the remnants of a battlefield: a mess of trampled plants, blood, and ash from the burned buildings. Looking over at her, he ceased his digging and leaned heavily on his hoe.

“S’all right,” he said without conviction. “Ash’s good for the soil. I needed to fertilize this plot anyway.” Tilting his head to one side, he squinted at her. “...do I know you?” he asked.

Chris glanced hastily at Nash who shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she stammered.

“Oh,” he sounded disappointed. “You kinda remind me of the lady Percy brought with him to the Harvest Festival.”

Her sigh of relief was heavy. Ah. He was one of Percival’s friends. That made a difference.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m Chris Lightfellow, a friend of Percival’s.”

The farmer’s eyes grew wide, and Chris prepared for a clumsy bow and gushings of undeserved praise.

“You know Percy?” he repeated. “Is he alright?”

Chris blinked until she remembered that Percival’s last visit had ended in disaster. “Yes, he’s fine,” she assured him. “He hardly got a scratch during the whole thing.”

Before she could react, before she could reach for her sword, the farmer’s muddy hands had seized her biceps. She opened her mouth to shout, to tell him to back off, but his lips had covered hers. Chris froze, too shocked to move, as the farmer kissed her. He didn’t let up until Nash recovered from his own shock and hastily pulled him off.

“See here!” Nash scolded.

“Thank you!” the farmer gasped, and Chris couldn’t decide if he was talking about the kiss or the news. “Thank you so much! I was so worried!”

About Percival then. Chris shook herself, resisting the urge to drag her sleeve across her lips. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly remembering himself and offering the clumsy bow she’d anticipated earlier. “Name’s Barts. Percy and I go way back. Helped me plant this tomato patch, here.”

“I see,” said Chris, though she wasn’t sure that she did. “Will you be planting tomatoes again?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but I’d like to branch out a bit. I’ve always wanted to try a vineyard, but grape seeds are hard to come by and I’m not sure I could convince grapes to grow in Iksay.”

Chris tilted her head to one side. “Really? Why not?”

“The soil’s fine, but the climate’s too cold. Grapes are finicky about their wind and water. I’d need a place with a milder atmosphere, closer to open water.”

Open water, hm? Chris smiled.

“I just so happens, I have some grape seeds,” she told him, rummaging in her pouch, “and I know a perfect place to cultivate them.”


End file.
